


The Color of Blood

by ladydragon76



Series: Hunters [2]
Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Before Cybertron was torn apart by war there were more mechs than just those that lived in glittering city-states.  In the Manganese Mountains, far removed from ‘civilized society’, Hunters thrived in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1/IDW  
>  **Series:** Hunters  
>  **Rating:** R  
>  **Pairing:** Razor/Whip  
>  **Warning:** AU, OCs, OC death  
>  **Notes:** Still playing. I don’t expect this will be everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m rather taken with them, and it’s fun. ^_^

Whip watched with bright optics, though he wasn’t the only one.

Razor. Beautiful, sleek, serious, _vicious_ Razor danced with his blades flashing in the sunlight. All around the gossip flew. He was only _just_ into his majority. A whelp. Plating barely fully hardened, and he’d decided to challenge their chieftain for leadership?

The fool, they said, not even bothering to whisper it.

Oh yes, Kattari was aging, perhaps not as daring as he once had been, but how did this child expect to lead their tribe? Especially with so much anger?

Razor’s voice was a hiss when he spoke, but still managed to be heard. “You will lead us to ruin! You would rather talk than act!”

A gift, Whip thought, lust coiling in his spark, that Razor could make himself heard without shouting. Spirits age him that he could claim this one as his mate! Razor had always made his spark pulse, for as long as Whip could remember. Before he was even taken on hunts he could recall standing with the caretakers as the hunting party returned, purple-red optics searching until he found Razor’s lithe form. He was successful at the hunts even from a young age. So much potential. So brave, and clever.

Whip carried no doubt as to who would win. Razor spoke only to make his case, and Whip agreed on all points. Kattari was wise, powerful, respected by their tribe, but not much beyond it anymore.

“You will bring all our deaths, little one,” Kattari replied. “You are too rash.”

But it was Kattari that bled on the ground.

“We are weak because of you. Our allies see it as easily as our foes.” Razor twisted and dipped, and more pink blood spattered the ground as Kattari actually gave voice to his pain. A sneer curled up Razor’s lip. “Rise up if you can! Strike me down and prove you are our leader!”

Whip could see it, and so could the rest of their people. Kattari could not rise enough to defeat Razor, and Razor had given him every chance, backing off when he could have pressed the advantage, telegraphing intent. Kattari had grown slow, lost his ambition and pride. It was time for new leadership.

Pink optics met red as Chieftain truly looked at his predecessor, then dipped, kicked out to disarm, and knocked Kattari to the ground. Their vents heaving were the only sounds now. None spoke, but Whip knew Razor’s words would have carried regardless.

“For our clan, for our people,” he spoke the ritual words.

Kattari brought his hands up in one last, instinctive move to save himself, but the blade Razor had chosen as his primary weapon bit into the main energon lines of his neck, then slipped with silken ease into the center of Kattari’s chest.

Spark light flared around Razor’s hand, but only a black slit remained as he pulled his blade free and rose to face their people. “Does any dare dispute my claim?”

Two charged Razor, but were defeated with an ease that made Whip choke back a whimper. His carrier knew his interest in Razor, but left him alone so long as he behaved properly, but he clearly was not hiding his desires well enough as a hand tightened on his shoulder.

Razor stood, relaxed, calm, only the faster whirr of his vents showing the exertions. He even left the two challengers alive! He did not fear them. They were beneath his concern.

No more stepped forward, and Razor beckoned Kattari’s mate to tend his shell.

There was a hunt to organize, a feast to prepare, and in just a few days, word would go out announcing Kattari’s fall and Razor’s rise to leadership. Allies would be invited, friends and extended family would come, mechs would vie for the unmated new Chieftain’s favor.

Whip obediently followed his carrier, but he was already formulating a plan to speak with their new leader. He had wanted Razor all his life. His spark cried out for its mate. Perhaps the Spirits guided him? He hoped so, because what he planned was nothing short of a good way to get killed before his love was proved.

~ | ~

The Chieftain’s home was still lit when Whip made his silent way to a window at the back, away from prying optics. He climbed through, his own grace something he prided himself on, for if he was to be mated to this mech, then he should be the very best he could be. That was before Razor was Chieftain. Now Whip must be nothing less than perfect.

“Seeking death so young?” Razor purred, blade angling to catch the light.

Whip stilled, looking into the shadow as Razor stepped forward. His vents caught. Razor had always been beautiful, but now he had taken the final honor of his win. His plating glistened in the low glow of the orbs, dark pink, the color of Kattari’s blood, new etchings of his status raw silver on the flares of his helm.

“No,” Whip whispered, settling his gaze on optics a shade lighter than Razor’s plating. “An offering.”

Razor smirked, his blade tucking away in a fearless, unconcerned gesture. Whip would not attack regardless, but he knew he was no match in a fight. So did Razor. “And what can one so young offer his leader?”

“Myself.”

Razor did not look surprised, but he did chuckle. “I would not take a slave from our own tribe.”

Whip snorted. “I would not be a slave, not even to you. I will be your mate.”

Surprise this time, but a genuine laugh, priceless for its rarity, rang out. “Will you then?”

Whip followed Razor to a sitting area, and since he was already being so bold, sat on one of the other cushions after Razor had made himself comfortable. An optic ridge arched, and Whip smiled.

“I am certain I do not wish such an insolent youngling for a mate.”

“I shall age and no longer be a youngling soon enough.” Whip could not promise a lack of insolence. It was his carrier’s favored complaint about him.

Razor’s lips twitched. “Age first, then bring your offer.”

“I intended to be patient, but you are Chieftain now,” Whip said. “I bring you my offer now and mean it as sincerely as a spark can. I am your mate. You are mine. It has always been thus.”

The smile was gone, a scowl replacing it. “I am not one to be claimed.”

“I care not if you claim me or I claim you. A true bonding of sparks cannot occur yet, but it will. I have waited all my life, for I have known all my life. I am yours and you are mine, and your culling of Kattari only made me act sooner than I had planned. I will have no other claim you before I reach majority and can do so myself.”

Razor’s expression was one of incredulity. Whip thought that perhaps he had pushed too hard, but he was not one to speak falsely or with meanings hidden and twisted in words. He presented a simple truth he _knew_ Razor was not aware of. Razor’s optics ever passed right over him.

“And should one try to win my spark?”

“Then I will send them to the Spirits, for you are mine.”

“There is a word for such… conviction, and it is not a flattering one.”

Whip flicked his hand to the side, dismissing the notion. “I am not obsessed in such a way. My thoughts do not dwell on you in that manner.”

“No?”

Whip shook his helm. “No. I feel you in my spark. I like to look upon you, I long to be yours, but I will not bring disgrace to either of us. Only I had to tell you. I will be a worthy mate, and am better suited than any other that may offer.”

“You tempt disgrace being here. You tempt it by sneaking in my window in the black of night.” Razor leveled a look at Whip. “You will tempt it in moments again when you leave and go to your caretaker before he notices you are gone from your bed, and bring disgrace whether you wish it or not.”

Whip dropped his chin a little, accepting the chastisement. Razor was not wrong. “Shall I leave by the door?” If seen, Whip would certainly be in trouble, but Razor could scowl and distance himself even more so than their separate duties already allowed. It was not unheard of, what Whip would be suspected of, but if Razor were seen denying him, the new Chieftain would not suffer.

Razor tipped his helm, watching Whip for a moment. “What is life without risk?” He pointed to the back. “Offer when you are of age. I have no intent of taking a mate so soon into my own majority. Go.”

Whip flashed a bright grin, then hurried away. If his carrier knew he’d slipped out, he did not mention it. Whip took this as fate and encouragement from the Spirits.

Now, if only time would pass faster.


End file.
